


By Moonlight

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Can be read as gen or slash, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Illya’s latest rescue of Napoleon is seen through the eyes of the unfortunate (and underpaid) THRUSH grunt forced to face Illya.





	By Moonlight

“Stand guard outside while we interrogate Solo.”

The disgruntled grunt had to obey; all these THRUSH higher-ups seemed obsessed with this Mr. Solo. The grunt seemed to understand that he held a high importance at U.N.C.L.E., but he was more convinced that he’d be useful for ransom rather than information; those U.N.C.L.E. guys never cracked anyway, as far as he’d heard, and more money would mean a pay bonus—and more money was exactly what he wanted. The only reason he joined THRUSH was for the promise of money…

The grunt tried to focus on money as he tried his best to ignore the cries of pain inside the cell. He didn’t want to think about what they were doing to that Mr. Solo—he just wanted money, just wanted to be paid. Anyway, it wasn’t as though he was doing any of the actual torturing…

No, interrogating. That’s all it was—interrogating, just like U.N.C.L.E. would have done to any of them, right?

A piercing cry from inside caused the grunt to cringe.

“Money… gold… Aruba vacations…” he muttered to himself, trying to focus on why he was even putting up with it. “Need the money…”

He trailed off as he heard something approaching him in the darkened corridor. The lights had been turned off in the facility to make it seem as though it was abandoned to dissuade U.N.C.L.E.; the only light was from a moonbeam coming through a nearby window—but the grunt was definitely not alone.

He aimed his weapon in front of him.

“Who’s th-there!?” he stammered. “Stop, or I’ll fire!”

The grunt barely refrained from screaming as something leaped out into the moonlight—and then he sighed in relief, lowering his weapon.

It was just a cat—a small, black cat! She was glaring up at him as she stood in the moonbeam, the light reflecting off of her eyes as she lashed her tail angrily.

“What’s with you?” the grunt muttered, as he took note of the cat’s clearly agitated body language. He took a step forward, arching his eyebrows as the cat hissed, and a small, metal tag, hanging from a collar, slipped into view, a name etched onto it.

“‘Baba Yaga?’” he read.

He stepped forward again, reaching for the tag and see if there was an address on the other side of the tag.

As he did, an arm shot out from just behind the moonbeam, striking his other arm, causing him to drop the weapon he’d been holding, and a blond, blue-eyed man, dressed in black in a way that caused him to look almost like a larger version of the cat.

He only saw him for a split-second; he was out of the light and upon him in another instant—one hand covering his mouth, and the other aiming an U.N.C.L.E. Special at his chest. But what frightened the grunt more than the weapon was the look he had seen in the man’s blue eyes for that one moment he’d been visible.

He was certain that he would either be shot or beaten to a pulp, but to his surprise, his captor merely handcuffed and gagged him, and then bound his legs.

“I need to save my ammunition,” the man hissed, a Russian accent tinging his voice. “Otherwise, you would have fallen where you stood—and you still will, if you make a sound. But you seem as though you do not subscribe to their dogma; keep quiet, and no harm will come to you.”

The grunt nodded, and watched, utterly silent, as the Russian now kicked open the door of the cell.

There was gunfire and shouting—and then silence, followed by hushed voices and the sound of chains being unlocked. When the Russian exited the cell, he was supporting the very weak and injured Mr. Solo, but what astounded the grunt was that the previous fire in the Russian’s eyes was now replaced with a look of utter tenderness as he softly spoke to Mr. Solo. Mr. Solo said something back quietly, with a reassuring smile.

And then, the cat, which had been glaring at the grunt all this time, walked over to them, meowing and purring.

The grunt looked away, shaking his head as the Russian now started talking about his fate—something about “Mark and April” coming soon to pick him up and take care of everything else here.

As the cat gave him one more piercing glare, the grunt decided he wouldn’t fight it—he’d go along quietly.

THRUSH didn’t pay him nearly enough for _this_.


End file.
